The Plunger To My Mob
by NamelessDudette
Summary: AU Rizzles. Maura's a mob boss and Jane's a plumber. Eventual Rizzles. I do not own Rizzoli and Isles, nor did I generate this idea of a fanfic on my own. It's one of those self-accepted challenges to fic so, here's my thanks if you're going to go for it anyway:)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Self-declared tumblr challenge. It sounded really fun in my head so, here it is...hope it's alright...

* * *

Peanut and shell casings, cigarette butts and wads of facial tissues littered the floor. Boots caked with mud lay atop table tops and splotches of spilled beer added to the décor. The smell of lavender had been overridden and replaced by an acrid presence. Madame will not be happy.

"Korsak," she stepped toward a man of somewhat a hulking build and an equally staggering stench, "Madame will be back soon. She would really not appreciate this mess."

"I hear ye! The boys and I will get the mess sorted. Don't you worry yourself there Chang," Korsak pushed his chips onto the pile, "All in boys. We just need to finish this hand and we'll be just the men. "He winked.

Chang offered a semblance of a smile. Madame had been in a foul mood lately; she feared a less than perfect welcome for her.

"Thanks Korsak," she thought best to add, "It's just, you know how Madame can get and she's been through some with..."

"I know Chang. It'll be hard now that she's gone but I've been there since Madame's been this here tiny," he cradled air in his arms, "I may have gotten on in years but my heart's still in the right place, " he smirked, "Well, as right as it'll ever be. And that's with the boss and Madame. We boys just need breathers now and then Chang." He tossed his hand onto the pile. "Show em' boys."

"Yes Korsak," she looked down onto her clipboard, looking through a check-list of preparation; she liked staying organized, she knew how hectic the mob world can get and how precise Madame liked things, "Also, have you fixed Madame's toilet?"

"Aw shite!"

"You didn't?"

"I forgot is all. Get me the darn phone book there Frost." Korsak pointed at the dusty volume lying atop the counter.

"We have the internet Sir, I don't see why you can't appreciate it."

Korsak looked to the kid and chuckled to himself. New to the gang and not lacking any nerve or gusto this boy. Dared to stand his ground without acquainting with disrespect, well, not frequently at least. Not a bad one to keep around. "Well, this here, will never run out of batteries now would it?" He flipped through the sections.

"No sir," Frost shook his head and frowned, concentrating on his hand, "and I fold."

"Bag the chips for me and sweep up the mess son. I need to call me a plumber."

* * *

"Rizzoli and sons."

"Plumbers yes?"

"Yes sir, to where would we direct the service?"

"16 Drury Lane."

You know that place. Everyone knows that place. It's mob turf. "I think that's a little way out of our service routes Sir."

"I know what ye' thinking kiddo. We need a plumber and you're the best, no?"

"Yes sir, we pride ourselves on that."

"So, we need a plumber. You coming or not."

The tone didn't sound like a question. You weighed the odds. Probability of getting into trouble with the mob by fixing their toilets on their turf versus actually getting into trouble by refusing to render assistance. Tough. "Alright Sir, an hour tops."

"Good on ye kid. 16 Drury Lane and please, no funny business."

"I wouldn't dream of it Sir." You hung up the phone and packed your tools. Best that Frankie's not in, you thought, best I leave a note too.

'Frankie,

Went on a house call little brother. Be good.

-Jane'

You popped your cap onto your unruly curls and slung your tool bag onto your shoulder. Slid into the van and thought, no need to be melodramatic here Jane. It's the mob, not the loony and crazed. Toe the line, fix their loo and we'll just go back with our lives. No drama whatsoever.

* * *

You looked at the house. It's Victorian. You've never been one to think that size or even fortune to matter but you looked at the house and thought, it's Victorian, it's grand and it's now mine. Father has given me a turf of my own. I'll be on my own. You pondered for a moment the difference between sole proprietorship and glaring solitude even if it's glorified with power. You climbed the steps. You would leave the difference for, maybe later or tomorrow.

"Madame Isles," Your assistant Chang greets you at the door. You nodded and offered a faint smile, "Would you like me to take your coat?" You set your suitcases down by the door and shed the coat.

"Thank you Chang but I'll be heading to my room," you held onto the coat, "If it's alright, would you kindly pass a message to Korsak that I'll be with them in a moment?"

"Yes Madame, of course." Chang gave a slight smile and turned to go. You stood at the foyer, taking in the hardwood floors, carved banisters and the paintings that lined the walls. You shook your head and thought, I need a new place. A smaller place. A place that I can call my own. This is neither proprietorship nor solitude, this is a lonely suffocation. You started up the stairs to your room. You have duties to attend to, so best collect your mind.

* * *

You rang the bell. "Rizzoli and sons."

The door opened and a bespectacled broad welcomed you in.

"Are you the plumber?"

"Yes ma'am."

"I'm a little tied up at the moment, is it okay if I just gave you directions?" She seemed hurried and impatient.

"Sure ma'am. Just direct away."

"Alright. Second floor, turn right, third door."

"Got it. Thanks." You started towards the stairs. Appraised the mahogany.

* * *

You hung up your coat. You hung up the coat. Your mother's coat. Hope's.

You sat on the bed. Slumped. Hope's gone, you thought. Is hope gone too, you wondered. You sighed.

"You've gotten your own turf, you're a mob boss now Maura," you laid back on the bed, "you're a mob boss now Maura. There's no getting out now." You tried for a smile but tears answered instead.

"You're a mob boss now Maura," you took in a breath and headed for the toilet," Wash up and do your part right. At least for tonight."

* * *

"It's a clogged bowl and sink," you assessed your 'clients', "nothing I can't fix." You rolled up your sleeves and got to fixing.

You reached for your wrench and looked under the sink. You started to sing.

"Nuts and bolts, clogs and spills, just some of the things we plumbers fix. Here's my wrench, there's my rag and I have me a plunger too. My name is Jane, and Mr toilet, how are you feeling today. I see that you're clogged, but just worry not, I'll have you flushing so very soon. I may be a plumber now and I might live in a snobbish town but one day things may change for me-"

"Excuse me."

You stopped mid-screw, you heard a voice.

"Ouch!"

You laid back down, under the forgotten sink.

"Oh dear me, my apologies." Soft fingers fluttered along the fore of your head. You felt pain, there must be a bump but you weren't registering pain, you were registering her fingers, across your forehead. So soft, the flutters.

"No ma'am, it's okay," you shook your head, urging her fingers away, "The fault's mine."

She was kneeling on the bathroom floor, grime lining the tiles. You remember your place.

"Please get up there ma'am. The floor's grimy and that's a lovely dress you have on." You almost remember your place. You send a smile. You couldn't help yourself.

She smiled. "I'm sorry to have startled you." She stood. She offered a hand. You took it.

She smoothed out the creases of her dress. You felt no irritation. On any other occasion, you would most probably be irritated. Fancy lady there, caring so much about her clothes. You just looked at her. Smoothing out her dress. Nose a little pink. Soft gold hair. You've never wished harder to be anything but a plumber.

"Sorry there ma'am. I'll be done with the toilet and sink soon." You weakly gestured, hoping to catch her eyes.

"It's alright. I'll head to another. I wouldn't want to hold you up." She turned to go.

"Right." You looked down, looking down. Turning to head back to the ground, your wrench lay awaiting. You heard her footsteps growing fainter, she had walked away. You wondered why your heart ached a little.

* * *

You heard singing.

You looked into the bathroom and you saw a woman, dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans. Few strands of her curls escaped her cap and lying under your toilet sink. Fixing your sink and singing. You looked at her, taking in her form, taking in her song. You smiled; she dared to dream, she dared to hope. You had lost hope. You looked at her and hope didn't seem so lost.

"Excuse me."

She stopped, she sat up.

She cried out.

You ran over to check her bruise, a forming bump. You knew what you're doing, of course you knew. This is what you'll rather be doing. Checking for bumps. Looking over bruises, bodies and bumps. You flutter inside a little. Her skin gave off warmth. She smelled of lavender.

"No ma'am, it's okay, "she was shaking her head and your fingers fall away, "The fault's mine."

You were kneeling on the floor. The cold tiled floor. You liked this position, this place.

She smiled as she urged you to stand up, as she complimented your dress. She smiled.

"I'm sorry to have startled you." You sent an apology encompassed with a smile. You offered her your hand. She took it.

You were aware of the tingling of your receptors against her coarse skin. You smoothed out your dress. You were aware at how lost your hands are feeling. You smoothed out your dress.

"Sorry there ma'am. I'll be done with the toilet and sink soon." She said. You lifted your eyes, to watch as she gestures. You didn't want soon, you wanted awhile more, awhile longer. You wanted to hold her up, if you only could.

"It's alright. I'll head to another. I wouldn't want to hold you up." You turned to go.

"Right." You heard her soft answer. You wondered why your heart ached a little but, duty calls. You have a father to please and a mob boss to be.

* * *

**A/N: **Hi there, dear reader, firstly, the song Jane sings to goes with the tune, 'skater boy' by Avril Lavigne. I know it doesn't quite match but it was one of my own silly snippets of fun. Feel free to sing-along. haha. I will most probably continue this story because, I wrote it so that it'll have more chapters coming but it'll take some time. I'm rather busy unfortunately. I'm just putting this out there cause I saw a challenge on Tumblr that my mind jumped at accepting. Comments would be greatly appreciated cause, I'm not really certain how I've taken this...Regardless, thanks for reading anyway:)  
And of course, Rizzles happen. *nods and smiles*


	2. Chapter 2

"Madame Isles, may I?"

You offered a small smile and a simple wave, beckoning her to enter. You had just put away your books, might as well begin the assimilation now. You sighed under your breath; a little release where there can be none.

"Chang, Isles is what I go by back in France. If you would just address me as I should be in Boston? Madame would do."

"Yes Madame," she looked to her clipboard and jotted something down; you wondered if it's that important a note, what you prefer to be called; it is, "Korsak and his men have been made aware of your arrival. When should I be arranging the meeting?"

"I'll be down in a moment, 5 minutes," you waved her along, "Thank you Chang." You needed a little more, time.

"Yes Madame." She closed the door behind her.

You closed your eyes and took in a breath. Deep breaths. They help center a person.

* * *

"Right." You looked at your handiwork. Checked the sink, not a leak. Checked the flush, it flushes well. You packed up your tools and proceeded to clean up after yourself. You caught a sight of yourself in the mirror. Sheen of perspiration across your forehead and strands of hair clinging to the same very area of skin. You're a mess Rizzoli. You said to yourself.

You scrubbed at your fingers, washing away the grime. You rubbed at your washed face and let loose your curls. That's better, you thought. Less a plumber, more a well, what does it even matter. You exited the bathroom, eager to pass on the standard line of, "Sir or Ma'am, the bathroom's looking fine, we'll send the bill over and thank you for choosing Rizzoli and sons," you recite; a well-practiced line and a signal of a job errand over and done.

You felt a slight thrill of excitement, maybe you'll meet that woman again, the one with the soft gold hair; you touched your forehead, remembering the flutters.

* * *

You can do this Maura, just think and execute. You uttered to yourself, a morale boost. As you walked through the opened door to the study, the latter word's other connotation sank in. Heaviness grew in your chest and you shook away the notion of right and wrong. There will just be duty for now.

You noticed that you were approaching the bathroom, and you felt your cortisol level drop a little.

You walked past to see an empty room, and you wondered why it had even mattered.

* * *

You stood at the foyer. The bespectacled broad was nowhere to be found. You looked around, no one. You paced the carpeted ground. Each pace, a slight stomp. Big places make you feel small and you're not one to like feeling small. You paced, each pace, a slight stomp.

* * *

As you reached the stairs, you saw her. You watched as each taken pace, accentuated the long limber legs; the snug of her jeans hugging her bottom. You remembered the tingling of the receptors on your fingers. You shook away the thoughts of attraction. You descended the steps slowly, determined to drag out the call of duty and partly to just look at the woman. Her hair had been let down, the curls now free; a wild mane. You found it difficult to concentrate; each step on each stair a usually unconscious movement now a task requiring much focus.

She must have heard you, because she looked up. You've never seen a brighter smile.

* * *

You heard footsteps. You stopped pacing and looked up. It's her. The soft gold hair and those legs. You swallowed. The flutters. Can there be a more beautiful person. A statement, not a question. You smiled.

"Hi Ma'am," you hesitated, the practiced line seemed so, wrong to be used here; you don't want to leave, "I…" You discarded your line, you forgot your words.

She smiled at you and you must have blushed. You could feel the side of your ears warm and flushed.

"Hi, I'm not going to hurt you, don't worry, there's no sink here." She smiled.

You laughed. "No ma'am, there isn't and it's not anything that you did ma'am. It was-"

"I shouldn't have startled you."

"Well, I shouldn't have been that easily startled."

"Do you make it a habit to take the blame for everything?" She gave a little laugh. "Now, how's your head?" She touched your forehead.

You winced but told her an, "It's okay," because the tingling sensation soothed over the pain. You focused on her fingers, on looking at her and you smiled, at her.

"Madame Doyle." A voice called from the side. You watched her features shift from amusement to bemusement. You took a step back, remembering that you're in a mob house. There are boundaries.

"Ma'am, the bathroom's looking fine, we'll send the bill over and thank you for choosing Rizzoli and sons." You ended the well-practiced line with a flourish of a bow and a smile. There are boundaries, there are lines but there's also, a beautiful woman across that line. You can't just give her a practiced line; can't just leave like she's not making your heart ache for her to smile at you one more time.

She sends you a nod and a smile.

You send her another bow and left the house thinking if maybe, a pipe would just break, maybe not right now but one day. So they could call for a plumber, so that she would call for you again. No drama Jane, you reminded yourself. You readjusted your tool bag and drove on back, to where you belong- Rizzoli and sons.

* * *

You had enjoyed that. You felt like a human, sharing a normal conversation; a nice connection. It was an added benefit, to hear that voice, to touch that skin of lavender and warmth. You held back a smile. You had been called.

"Korsak," you gave a slight smile.

"It's nice to have you back Madame Doyle." He returned the smile.

You fought the urge to retch; you would dismiss that name, at any possible instance. "Just Madame would do Korsak," you were careful to arrange your features into that of a smile, "Tell me now, how have things been since I was away?"

Just think and execute Maura, just think and execute. You repeat to yourself as you entered the office, your office. To meet the gang, your mob. You're their boss now. You may not like it but, you're also not called Queen of the dead for nothing.

* * *

**A/N: **Hi there, dear reader, hope this chapter's alright. Apologies for the late update. Comments would be appreciated, as always~ Hope I did alright here and, next update, would most probably be up next week. Thanks for the response, and thank you for reading:)


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